


Syttende Mai – Norway’s Independence Day

by Kazaha_87



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (secret) love for Metal, Happy Ending, M/M, Viching nostalgia, lookalike characters, substitutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7602670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazaha_87/pseuds/Kazaha_87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is one single day of the year when Denmark has been forbidden to even stay in Norway, and there are a few reasons behind that prohibition... a few reasons that substantially changed after two centuries and that is better if Denmark doesn't know...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Syttende Mai – Norway’s Independence Day

Despite their very, very long existence as Nations, Danmark had always been a solar person. This easygoing attitude of his had bought him many names, and ‘stupid’ or ‘noisy’ were the most common ones, first and foremost among his brothers. They always called him that, but, in truth, he actually preferred to call ‘optimism’ what everybody else called ‘stupidity’…

During his long life, obviously, he had suffered like everybody else, but he was the kind of man who preferred to look back at the good memories, to remember the happy anecdotes rather than moping over the sad ones.

But, actually, all that worked for 364 days a year – 365 during leap ones.

There was _one_ _day_ , in fact, that he could do nothing but brood and sulk all day long since 1814: the _syttende mai_ – May the 17 th, Norway’s Constitution Day, the day of his _Independence_.

On that day, Norge had forbidden him – and Sverige – to even _stay_ in Norway ‘unless any Chief of State would have decided to call a meeting there on that exact day’, he had said, and in 201 years it still _never_ happened, not even once.

 _As if…_ , he thought and moped a bit more to the mug of hot chocolate in his hand despite the season while sinking slightly more into his favorite armchair in his house in Copenhagen.

He raised his gaze on what was now just a relic of his past – their common past together – hung at the wall: his axe.

Oh, how he missed those times… The Viking Era, maybe the best period of his entire life, when he was there with his axe, his family beside him and the open sea on the horizon, when you couldn’t really grasp where water ended and the sky started and it seemed to sail the skies.

Then an image popped on top of all his other memories and momentarily blocked everything else, and to that Danmark loudly cursed.

It was ages since the last time he had seen an expression such as the one engraved in stone into his memory on Norge’s face…

And it was _the_ _worst moment ever_ to remember anything like that, and definitely the worst _day_ of the year _ever_.

Sometimes even _months_ passed without seeing each other because of their respective commitments, but _knowing_ that on that specific day of the year he was _forbidden_ to even set a foot on Norge’s lands was all another story, and even seeing him until the previous day didn’t help his mood and, if possible, it even worsened it in the end, because it seemed like he was being chased away…

And he had tried it many times in the past, but every fucking time his mood worsened instead of getting better so, in the end, he had stopped trying to see him in proximity of that date.

Suddenly growing angry at himself for those thoughts and at Norge for this prohibition he had imposed on him, he rose from his seat, put down the mug into the sink, opened the fridge and took out _two_ boxes of beer that made a total of _twelve_ bottles; then he found an opener and went back to his armchair, one box at each side, close at hand, and the first _five_ beers went down one after the other almost without a pause between the previous bottle and the next.

But sadly, his abrupt decision to pass to alcohol totally backfired, because now, in his blurry state of mind, the only thing he could think of was that old memory of that peculiar glint in Norge’s eyes whenever he got on board of a drakkar, his gaze lost into the horizon while watching from bow, his passion getting past his otherwise almost imperturbable features like nothing else had seemed able to move him since those old times during the ‘Viking Era’, his hands on the railing and his knuckles white – the only other visible sign of his excitement –  and the strong wind ruffling his hair when sailing on open sea.

To the ninth beer with his stomach completely void because he hadn’t touched food since the evening before – and now it was five p.m. – he was crying and he didn’t even notice at first. But when he did notice he emptied the still half-full bottle in one go and started the tenth right away in a fit of rage.

And it was then that he made his decision, because enough was enough, and _more than two hundred years_ was _indeed_ enough: he would have taken the first plane to Oslo and sobered on his way to the airport.

So he stumbled to the phone and called a cab, then it was the time for the toilet and a quick change of clothes, or rather he actually put on a pair of pants on his patriotic red and white underpants after changing the latter with an identical pair and he removed the T-shirt he didn’t washed in the last week and a half at least to wear a clean red shirt instead. Then the time to put on his shoes, take his wallet and put a pair of clean underpants into his pocket and the taxi was waiting for him outside his front-door.

Then, when he arrived at the airport, everything went incredibly _smoothly_ – even more smoothly than he would have imagined in the best of dreams.

And, actually, all that absurd situation seemed a bit like a dream, but maybe it was a sign… a sign that he was doing the right thing, and his innate optimism indeed helped him see it that way while boarding his flight.

-&-

At first Norge had forbidden Danmark – and Sverige for extension given their at-the-time-recent history – to go see him on his National Day because he was angry at the man after that, in 1815 – only _one_ year after his declaration of Independence – bror Dan had showed in Oslo and had made a ruckus in the middle of the street during a parade.

By the way, after that, even when he had finally calmed down after a few years from that time, he never removed his prohibition to him to come because it was _his_ day: with anyone of them around everything would have lost its inner meaning, its raison d’être. They were talking about his _independence_ , after all!

Then years and decades passed and, more than a century later, after the Second World War, seeing how much bror Dan still suffered for his – for once – egoistical request, he had seriously thought about removing his veto, but, in the end, for decades he went on repeating to himself “next year” until he actually found another reason _not_ to allow the Dane around him on that day. Because, seriously, bror Sve had _never_ really been a problem: he never really cared about his opinion at all, in fact, and, let’s talk clear, he would have _never_ imposed there in the first place, knowing far too well how important for his people was their National Day after his own long and more-often-than-not difficult history with Denmark.

So, as always happened, bror Dan was the problem, but well: did he really have to make an affair of State out of it and change his decision for just _one single day_ of the year?!

Maybe not, and maybe Danmark could use this chance to grow up a little for once and to accept that he could actually have something that he wanted it to stay private and that he didn’t want to share with him!

But actually that was what he kept repeating himself every year for more or less the last _thirty_ _years_.

The truth was that he was embarrassed. Embarrassed because he really _really_ missed the old days when they were Vikings and sailed the seas on their drakkar to discover and conquer new lands… he missed the thrill of the hazard, the risky missions, the adventures and even the battles.

He knew that, sometimes, the others missed it too, but no-one except for bror Dan ever said it out loud, as if it was obvious in a way, and shameful in the other…

And he knew that he could have talked to Danmark about this, that he would have understood, but he didn’t like to talk about those stuff with anybody, not even him.

He didn’t want to show a weakness…

The truth was that, when Black Metal appeared in Norway, he had been literally _fascinated_ by it. It was slightly too much desecrating but, at the same time, in a way, it reminded him of the old cults, with sacrifices and rites in the forests to Odin and Thor. So he had started to listen to that kind of music and, despite the themes, _every time_ he felt shivers run up and down his spine.

For many it was just noise, but when he listened to it, when the vibrations resonated with his heartbeat, he could somehow feel the blood run through his veins and pump in his chest and throat and blur his thoughts.

…no-one knew it, but _he_ was the one who had composed and sung the first ‘Viking Metal song’, in the garage of an unknown band formed by four seventeen years old boys two houses ahead of his when he was still learning how to play the bass before the more famous Swedish group Bathory made their appearance up the scenes with their _Blood Fire Death_ album…

But less than six months later, his band broke up and so, at first, he just continued to practice in his garage alone, writing songs and playing for himself when nobody was around and going to concerts around the country when he had time… it was his little secret, and neither Finland nor his lillebror Ísland, who discovered by mere chance his tastes about music a few years earlier, knew exactly how much he was into it.

Now, the reason why he didn’t want Danmark to be around on syttende mai was that his home – or better his _garage_ – became somewhat of a ‘rave party’ base, with A LOT of beer and alcohol in general, ear-splitting music and, here and there, sex, and not to speak of the fact that he was one of the performers together with his group – the Vikings Brødre – formed by him and other four boys whom he actually chose not only for their skills but also and maybe _mainly_ for their aspect that resembled _his_ brothers and for whom he went so far as to even decide their stage-names, that were respectively Ís for the boy on the piano, Sve for the one on the guitar, Fin for the one on the drums and, last but certainly not least, Dan for the main voice where he, instead, was on the bass and, in some songs, he played as the second voice too.

And there was another thing that Danmark _absolutely_ didn’t have to discover: ‘fake-Dan’ ravished him on occasions, and on syttende mai, when he was dead drunk and, therefore, he felt alone and aroused more than ever, it had become a habit…

And syttende mai was also the only day of the year when he allowed anyone that wasn’t one of his brothers to enter, at the end of the concert, his bedroom at home; and fake-Dan was actually the only stranger who had ever had that privilege.

Actually, it was the seventh year this year. Seven years since he had formed that band after more than two years and a half of strict selections, otherwise forming a band of Viking Metal would have had no meaning at all, and if he had to indulge on himself, he might as well do it right…

So, at five p.m., the real fun began with his bass resonating in his small garage and signing the start of the party.

 

There were screams of fans everywhere around them, merging and becoming one with the loud music engulfing them, and when, after no more than half an hour, Norge had enough alcohol in his veins to help him, together with the atmosphere, to mix fake and reality, everything was finally _perfect_.

He played with an arousal for like an eternity and, at the first brief pause, uncaring of the people around them like everybody else uncared for them, he literally jumped Dan – fake-Dan, obviously, but for him, at that moment, it was Dan nonetheless.

They copulated against the wall, and he was so eager to have him inside him that the scream he cried when he finally came definitely not long after they had started drowned out the cries of people around them and even the music they had put on the playlist for when no-one was on stage and that rammed almost crushing their ears.

“You’re louder today, Nor”, the man over him panted while still pumping inside him and smashing him hard against the cold concrete wall once, twice in a hastened rhythm that grew faster and harder the more they went on.

“Today it’s a special day, Dan.”, he declared in a dreamy and stuttered voice while the man over him continued to move inside him, waking up again his arousal after being already spent once, “It’s _my_ day, the day of my independence. The day that I became your equal at long last…”, he breathed heavily and, this time, the man slightly moved and watched him in confusion like always happened when Norge spoke his drunkard’s mind without any filters, and when they had sex it actually happened more often than not.

Because _no one_ there knew who he really was, neither his fuck buddy.

And no one but himself had to know, actually.

“I’m no more yours, Dan. It’s you who are mine now.”, he went on totally uncaring of the other’s stare and, before ferally kissing him to silence the man’s doubts and distract him from thinking, he smiled satisfied against his swollen lips. “But now we better go back: our fans are waiting!” he almost sang and, that said, he grabbed the other’s hand and guided him back on stage where the others soon followed to start again with one of his new songs as planned.

-&-

At the end of the concert, then, Norge’s libido had reached its peak and when the crowd asked for an encore he cursed in his head.

But how to disregard their fans’ love?! So they went for second, and then for third, but after that, even if the fans screamed for another song, he grabbed the microphone from Dan’s hands and wildly kissed him in front of everybody.

“I’m sorry, people: I love you, but I really really need this man _right_ _now_.”, he only said to the crowd, sensual beyond measure, and, at the inciting whistles that followed the gesture and the comment, Norge boldly grabbed the rim of the other’s pants, his fingers lightly brushing against the man’s hardening manhood inside of them, and he guided him off-stage and then towards his off-limits-for-everybody-but-them house.

“…wow! He’s always so calm, but during concerts he really goes wild!”, the blond young man on the drums commented, enthralled by Nor’s guts in front of so many people while he showed no concern about revealing his homosexuality in a context like that, but the other two on the stage, as good straight men, only shrugged at him in response and replied nothing.

-&-

_What. Was. That._

When the taxi approached Norge’s house, Danmark was glued to the window, his hands and nose against the glass and his eyes wide in shock and bafflement at the loud Metal music rumbling all around there and coming from a stereo that, judging by the mass of people gathering in Norge’s garden, could plausibly be settled inside his brother’s garage.

Ok that Norge considered syttende mai a special day for him, and ok that when he drank enough alcohol he was able to enjoy himself like a normal drunk person, but the calm and collected Norge who loved silence and peace more than anything else in the world would have _never_ gone to the extent of even give a party _in his own_ garage!

When the taxi stopped in front of the right door, Danmark was already out of the cab and, in the rush, he didn’t care for the money and left to the man almost all his cash in the wallet shouting a distracted “take the change” that surely made the taxi-driver happy but that he would have regretted later.

And every step he took towards Norge’s garage into the garden confounded him more.

He could see a stage from there, with abandoned instruments on it, and the people around  him, dressed all in black leather and string vests, some of them with even their faces painted, started to stare at him in utter curiosity but let him be without stopping him.

When the Dane got in the proximity of the stage, he finally heaved a relieved sigh and literally swam in the crowd until he reached, in that dim light, a white head he recognized.

“Thank God at least you’re here, Ís! What the hell is going----on…”, he concluded, his words dying in his throat when the young man turned towards him at his name being called. “ _Who the hell are you?!_ ”, Danmark yelled when he didn’t recognize his face but indeed he noticed the similarities with their little brother.

The albino in front of him, on his behalf, watched at him as if he was mad.

“You called me, dude, so I guess you know me…”, he replied quite annoyed but then his expression turned perplexed for a moment. “Hey, Fin! Sve! Come here an instant!”, Danmark heard him call and, at the names, he turned pale for a moment, his breath dying for a few eternal seconds.

Then he instinctively turned towards the other two approaching and he turned even _paler_.

“What is it?”, the fake-Sve asked the smaller man who called for them and then his eyes slightly widened.

“Wow! I didn’t know Dan had a twin!”, the other newcomer commented, easygoing, and, at this, Danmark gaped at them in utter disorientation now.

“Dan?”, he only asked, appalled, and fake-Fin, believing that it was the stage-name that got him confounded, replied with a wide smile “Yeah, I mean Andreas, sorry!”

“…I’m not sure it’s that easy, Kjell…”, fake-Ís added at that, serious, when he noticed that the stranger’s face had gotten even more puzzled and that he was starting to lose his calm. Then he remembered how he had called him and he put two and two together. “I believe he’s here for Nor…”

At Nor’s name, Danmark seemed to wake up from his trance, his eyes feral when he roared “Where is he?!”, and then it was the others’ turn to pale.

“ _Faen!_ ”, the young man called Kjell cursed in Norwegian and he started to stutter. “Well… you see… he is a bit busy right now…… how about I try to call him and tell him you’re here?”, he offered. “What’s your name? I’ll tell him right away! Just wait a sec!”, he eagerly suggested while looking for his phone in his many pants pockets and finally finding it in the last one he checked.

But then Danmark grabbed him by his collar and put his face at mere millimeters from the other’s one and the man let his phone fall on the ground.

“ _Where_. _Is_. _He_.”, he repeated, threatening, and out of pure survival instinct, the smaller man replied without thinking “In his bedroom.”

At those last three words, Danmark’s blue eyes started to dart _flames_ and, without another word, he just threw the man away and stomped to the house freeing his path from whomever or whatever stood in his way with his fists.

-&-

Danmark had just opened the front door and taken a couple of steps inside that he suddenly froze still where he was.

_Was it his old cape laying on the floor?!_

Stunned, he slowly, almost hesitantly, reached the cloth abandoned a few steps from where he stood and tried to ignore the mesh shirt and the two pairs of pants not far above from there that seemed to mark the trail through the living room and up the stairs, surely leading to Norge’s bedroom.

He crouched to reach it so to better study it and he recognized it at the touch. Just to make sure he checked for an old patching Norge had done for him at the end of an old battle many, many centuries earlier and he found it where he remembered it to be.

No mistake, then: it was his cape.

He was sure he had lost it during one of his many house moving along the years…

_Did Norge have it for all this time?_

But when, not long ago, he had asked him if he had seen it, Norge had shrugged at him and even reprimanded him for being a slob: he remembered it _distinctly_!

In front of this new development, he tried to remember when it was the last time he had seen it himself and he got pale at the memory of the last time he had actually used it: it was when he fought alongside Napoleon… before Sve laid claim to Norway when they lost that war…

“You must be kidding me…”, he muttered, shaken and still incredulous of the many, many implications behind all that he had seen in the last few minutes since he had walked out of his taxi.

Then, as if it wasn’t enough shocking revelations for one night, now covering up the noise of the loud music muffled by the walls of the house, he heard a voice he finally recognized, but that at the same time was something completely new for his ears…

“Ja! Ja, der!”, he heard, Norge’s voice a melodious plea, “Oh Odin, ja! Sterkere, Dan! Sterkere… der, der! …oh Gud, ja! Der---”, but the last word died in his throat when he came all over the _real_ object of his desire.

A very awkward silence gobbled them at the embarrassing moment when Danmark found himself covered in semen in front of a naked Norge standing by the opened door of his room, his hands against the frame, and a man that seemed his copy fucking him from behind…

Despite that, his guilty bror, after a moment of surprise actually visible in his slight stiffening and in his widening eyes only, in the end seemed more annoyed than ashamed as he should have been, and that actually made Danmark see red: he grabbed the stranger with the same face as him and who had quickly stepped a few steps back in utter confusion by the hair and threw him out of Norge’s room while, with his other hand, he pushed his brother inside and, in a swift movement, he locked themselves in.

“What does that mean?”, he queried, his eyes glacial as his pride was shattered. “How the hell should I read all this?!”

Norge swallowed hard but didn’t divert his gaze from Danmark’s, almost challenging. By the way, he remained silent and didn’t move nor attempted to cover himself either, apparently uncaring of his state.

 And it was Danmark who moved to take the linen from the bed and covered him with that, but Norge, still watching at him in the eye, removed the cloth from himself and dropped it on the floor.

“That’s me. Are you ashamed?”, the Norwegian replied at Dan’s glare of disapproval at his blunt gesture. “And also, you shouldn’t be here in the first place.”, he retorted, but those last words in particular made the other even madder than he already was, the shock and disappointment making way for repressed anger built up inside him for more than two centuries.

“You should be the one ashamed here, Norge! And you sure are the cruel one.”, Danmark declared, furious. “You should know, by now, that I love you more than anything else in the world. You should have talked to me! I’ve been patiently waiting _for centuries_ for you to finally accept my feelings and return them at last! How long is this farce going on? Tell me!”, he commanded, but still Norge only swallowed and kept silent.

“ _Tell me, Norge!_ ”, and this time Danmark yelled in his face and for the first time the other lowered his gaze, only to raise it back the moment later so to meet again the Dane’s hurt and now sad light blue eyes still locked on him.

“That I decided to form a band? Almost ten years. That I actually formed it, seven, and that I make myself being fucked by your Norwegian copy, also seven years.”, he bluntly replied and, at his last words, Danmark slapped him so hard that he turned Norge’s face on the side.

“Do you have the slightest idea how it was hard for me to always treat you respectfully, to oblige your every request of space and time when the only thing I really wanted since the time of the Kalmar Union was locking you in my bedroom, tie you up and finally make you mine?!”, Danmark shouted, exasperated, but Norge’s blatant reply made the man look at him as if he was an alien.

“Then why didn’t you just do it?”

After an eternal moment of pure shock, Danmark seemed only able to repeat “Why?!”

“Yeah. Why?”, Norge insisted, his tone half neutral half annoyed as usual, and this time Danmark scoffed and shook his head, incredulous to his ears.

_Was he really asking that?!_

“Because I love you and you would have hated me if I laid a hand on you without your consent?!”, the Dane retorted, his eyes wide open. “Wasn’t it obvious?!”, but Norge’s reply to that last comment left him with no words.

“And who told you that it wouldn’t have been consensual?”

Danmark blinked at him once, then twice, totally appalled.

_Yeah… no-one had actually told him, but…_

“Since when do you love me back?”, the taller man finally asked, but that question made Norge scoff back at him this time.

“Actually, it’s you the one who loves me back.”, he implied and Dan’s eyes grew wider than ever.

“But…… but you always dodge my shows of affection and attack me back with your troll every time I try to get near you!”

“You try to knock me down when you want to show your attachment to me, so I knock you down harder to show you that I care more. But you did nothing else but that, so I thought it was enough for you. I just needed more than your attempted locks, kicks and punches to be physically satisfied.”, he blatantly replied as if it was totally obvious from the start, but evidently it wasn’t given that Dan abruptly burst out laughing in hysterics and then threw himself on the bed, both his arms raised over his head so to cover his face.

“How could you even think that it was enough for me?! Do you know how much I got frustrated in the last _seven_ _centuries_?”

“And can you imagine how much _I_ was in the last one thousand and three hundred years, then?”, Norge retorted in a snort and rolled his eyes in annoyance while he sat on his bed right next to Danmark and crossed his arms and legs still totally naked and feeling absolutely no shame for his state.

“Ok, you win… as always…”, added the Dane at that last retort and then, grabbing him by his shoulder, he unbalanced him and made him fall next to him. “Then how about showing me all this pent up tension you so eagerly claim to have?”, he suggested, but Norge scoffed at him even if complying and straddling him.

“As I already told you and as you have seen with your eyes, in the last seven years I have found an outlet, so I’ll let you show me instead if you want…”, he sensually proposed with a half smile that, for his standards, was the same as a very big and bright one on a normal person.

And how to say ‘no’ to such a request coming from the man he loved?

**Author's Note:**

> Actually, I don't know a word in Norwegian, so I checked on google translator... if someone happens to find any mistake (in the norwegian part or even in the english part, because actually english is not my language - I keep up repeating it but I guess that who finds this story checking for matching researches actually can't know from the start unless I repeat it here too...) please tell me and I'll fix those parts ;)  
> By the way: faen is like shit, ja is yes, der is there, Gud is God and sterkere is faster... or so told me google translate.
> 
> I hope you liked this story. If it is so (or even if it isn't) please let me know! I love kudos and I'd die for a comment XD


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